


This is home?

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, Foster Care, Hurt Peter Parker, I have issues, Peter Parker Has Issues, Protective Steve Rogers, Referenced Child Abuse, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The past few months had been a struggle for Steve, but he'd found his feet in the 21st Century, if only it wasn't so goddamn lonely. That is, until he opens his door to Peter Parker, a terrified emergency foster placement, and slowly everything begins to fall into place.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers
Comments: 17
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr ask that's actually been in my inbox for like a whole year... go me??? I shouldn't be allowed to start another multi chapter........  
> pls drop me a comment, or say hi to my tumblr, @crazymarvelsuperfamily i mean if u want? umm okay, thx and bye

“Thank you, Mr Rogers. The only thing I need from you now is a signature, then we’re all set.” The social worker smiled, “feel free to keep the pen by the way – its got our number and email on.”

Steve accepted the pen from the outstretched arm and scrawled along the bottom of the document before him. That was it. He was going to be a dad, _well,_ foster dad – _hopefully._ Steve barely managed to keep a straight face, barely managed to contain his excitement. He wasn’t going to be alone for any longer.

“honestly, we can’t thank you enough for what you’ve today – the difference you are going to make to a kid’s life… I’m really excited for you, Mr Rogers.” The social worker shook Steve’s hand, with just a little too much force to be comfortable. He didn’t care.

“The pleasure is totally mine, thanks for all your help – I can’t wait to hear from you.” Steve grinned as he stood up to leave, and in that moment, he felt happier than he had in, well, 70 years.

The past few months had been a huge struggle, if he was being honest. One second, he was saying his final goodbye to Peggy, before crashing a plane into the middle of the ocean, sacrificing his life and drowning; the next he’s sitting up in a hospital bed 70 years into the future. It shouldn’t have been possible – and he almost wished it wasn’t. _Almost._ There was just so much to come to terms with: smartphones, WiFi, skinny jeans, Uber. Not to mention that he was viewed as a historical war hero, with his own dedicated museum…. And here’s the real shitter: everyone he knew and loved was long gone.

Gabe, Dum Dum, Howard, Bucky… Peggy was still alive, but well into her 90s, and bedbound in a care home. Of course, he still loved her, and visited once a week, but she was as good as gone as well. In fact, Steve was totally alone. And the loneliness was killing him.

While he could adapt and learn to cope with the 21st century, catch up with 70 years of science and history, and work out how to use a cell phone, he couldn’t face the lack of friends and family. It was the little things that bugged him the most – how the apartment was too quiet, even with the radio on; how he had no one to talk to about the news; how every evening, he cooked a meal for one.

Now that he had the rest of his life near enough sorted, he felt that the only thing left was to find a family. And becoming a foster parent seemed like the best solution for Steve. He wanted to be a dad, and he wanted to make a difference to those who needed it the most. The fact that there were kids out there who were as alone in the world as he was seemed so desperately cruel, and if he could help just one person, Steve thought that his life would be worth something again.

Going through the process of fostering had been an arduous task to stay the least. After hours of surveys, interviews, training courses (on everything from temper tantrums to head lice), Steve settled on choosing to foster a teenage boy. He’d read that they were the hardest to find placements for as there was such a negative stigma around them. He’d also read that they may be the hardest work – but Steve thought he was strong, and he had a lot of time, given he couldn’t exactly get a day job. The home inspection had been the weirdest experience by far – the social worker who visited seemed surprised to know he didn’t live in a mansion somewhere – which Steve found mildly humorous, given that he had no stable income. It was also a little awkward trying to explain what exactly his job was – given that he couldn’t really put SHEILD agent / mutant science project. Being finally able to sign the last documents that confirmed him as a potential foster parent was more rewarding than he could possibly imagine.

The two weeks after he signed the fostering papers somehow passed slower than the previous 6 months combined. Steve had spent hours, and thousands of dollars, shopping for everything under the sun. Money for him wasn’t exactly a problem, and he had no idea of how much stuff any of the kids would come with, but he was told to prepare for anything. And prepare he did – with stationary, a tv and PS3, a new phone, toiletries and a toothbrush, and at least a set of pjs and clothes in a few different sizes. And then, realising his apartment was still stylistically in the 1930s, but probably at least partially thanks to nerves, he repainted the walls, renovated the bathroom of the guest bedroom, and changed and rearranged at least half of the furniture. He checked his phone every other waking moment, just in case the agency rang – he couldn’t risk missing a call. There were a few occasions when he woke up in the middle of the night, just to make sure no one had rung.

When the call finally came, Steve was in the gym – which shouldn’t have come as a surprise, seeing as practically lived there. He had to battle against his worse judgement to actually take a shower and change into a decent t-shirt and jeans as opposed to just leaping straight into his car without even taking his boxing wraps off.

And the journey took too long. It always did. Trying to cross New York in the middle of rush hour was never going to be quick, but Steve honestly didn’t think he’d ever sat in traffic for as long as he did. The last time he drove to Queens it had taken 15 minutes, and now well over an hour later, he was still stationary. He mindlessly scrolled through his Spotify playlist, skipping song after song until he paused on Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye, thinking of the first time he met Sam – he was probably the one who inspired him to get into fostering in the first place. He smiled nervously to himself, humming and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, as the conversation with the social worker played through his mind.

He was driving out to pick up a 14-year-old boy called Peter. He didn’t really know much more than that, other than it was an emergency placement, and he’d been previously adopted. As his car inched too slowly towards the agency, the nerves started to hit him. Obviously, he had prepared everything and was ready for any circumstances, but the fact that he was entering this completely blind had never really sunk in before. He didn’t know where the kid was from, what kind of support he would need, he didn’t even know if he would like pizza. Steve thought he was ready for anything, but as he was held up by yet another red light, he began to have his doubts.

Time somehow sped up again, just as he was hoping it wouldn’t, and by some weird stroke of luck found a parking space right outside the agency. He heaved a few deep breaths, and closed his eyes for a brief moment, before finding the courage to enter the cold old building of the agency.

He was met with the warm smile of the same receptionist who was at the front desk last time he was there. “Mr Rogers! Thank you so much for coming so quickly, especially with the traffic this evening. If you could just take a seat for a moment, and Jane will be with you in a moment.”

Steve nodded gratefully, spinning his car keys around his finger a few times and jogging his knee. Jane, Peter’s social worker called him into her office some painfully long 5 minutes later. She too was smiling widely, but it was that kind of false, sickly sweet grin that made the hairs on Steve’s neck raise just a little. She looked a little cold in a suit and pencil skirt, with her hair in an immaculately tight bun. “Mr Rogers! It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Peter is such a special kid; I can’t wait for you to meet him! Come on through” Her overtly patronising tone and the emphatic popped P on _special_ made his spine curl a little.

He flinched momentarily before returning the smile, as warmly as he could. He followed Jane down to her office, the click of her stilettoes eerily filling the otherwise silent corridor. It was nearing 8, and the building was almost empty apart from them.

Jane’s office was as immaculate and cold as she was. A large desk filled the middle of the room with a large swivel chair on her side, which faced a laptop, and a pen pot containing 3 biros, and absolutely nothing else. On the other side were two large leather chairs, that looked stiff, and in one of those, a small boy was curled up.

Peter looked desperately out of place in that office. His jeans were tattered at the knees and barely scraping his ankles, and his t-shirt was far too large for him with a gaping hole at the left shoulder. By his worn through sneakers slumped a tarnished rucksack. The kid was dirty – his dark curly hair clung to his forehead in greasy clumps, and his clothes looked like they hadn’t ever been through the wash. His face sported a dark bruise across his cheek, and the bottom of his lip was deeply split – it looked recent, as there was still dried blood clinging to his chin. Peter turned around and looked up at Steve in shock.

Steve gulped, before raising his eyebrows into the most genuine smile he could muster. “Hey! Peter, right? I’m Steve.”

“I know who you are.” Peter’s voice was horse and cracked, as if he had been crying, though his face showed no sign of tear streaks.

Steve chuckled nervously. “I suppose you would.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“No, it isn’t.” Jane replied sternly, gesturing to Steve to take a seat next to Peter, as she walked round to her side of the desk.

As Steve sat down in the remaining chair, the first thing that hit him was the smell. The strong scent of old urine had been masked by the diffuser before, but the stench was unavoidable as he sat next to Peter. Steve gave the boy another small smile, and it was returned with a confused nod. Steve took that as a positive response.

“It’s getting late – how much paperwork needs to get done this evening?” Steve asked, glancing at Peter who looked like he was in desperate need of a bath and change of clothes.

“Not too much – You can be out of here in less than half an hour probably, but I will definitely have to phone you in the next few days and you may have to come back in the week.” Jane said, adjusting her laptop. She looked sternly at Peter. “We have some important things to discuss, Peter. I think Mr Rogers and you may both feel more comfortable if you wait in reception.”

Peter looked loath to leave. “Hey, I don’t mind Peter being in the room if he wants to stay.” He said looking at the kid, who slumped back into his chair.

“Very well. Peter, I need to inform Mr Roger of your past. Would you rather tell him yourself?” Peter shook his head. “Well then. I will try to keep things as short as possible. Peter’s mother and father died when he was 6. After that, Peter was taken in by his Aunt and Uncle. 6 months ago, there was a shootout, and his Uncle Ben lost his life. After that, we understand that Peter has faced severe neglect and abuse. A concerned neighbour contacted social services, who deemed the home unfit for Peter, and now we, as you may assume, he is in need of rehoming. However, we at the agency understand that he is a lot to take in and we understand if he’s too much work for.”

 _Rehoming?_ _Like he was some kind of stray dog._ Steve shuddered at her cold words. Jane’s voice was monotonous and unaffected, her gaze hard at Steve, who couldn’t help but take his eyes off the poor boy next to him. Peter himself seemed void of any emotions, almost as if he couldn’t hear them talking at all.

“Hey, Jane, I really don’t think its right to talk about Peter like that, you shouldn’t consider someone ‘too much work’.” Steve’s face hardened as he looked sternly at her.

Jane pursed her lips, and pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose, “Fine, then Peter is going to need a lot of support, and at the agency, we understand that not everyone is equipped to cope.”

Steve bit his bottom lip hard. _So, she was going to dehumanize Peter, and question his own competency as a decent fucking human._ “Thank you for your concern Jane, but I think we will cope.” He smiled, but there was just as much venom in his tone as Jane’s. “And, if it’s alright with you, and with Peter, I will sign whatever I need to tonight, and then we’ll get going home.”

Jane coughed, taken aback, but Steve looked to Peter questioningly. “Yeah, I uh, guess that’s fine with me” Peter mumbled, shuffling in his seat.

Jane cleared her throat again and took a file of forms out from a draw of her desk. “These are the contracts and payment agreements. I would recommend going through them with your case worker and attor-” She trailed off, noticing Steve had already signed the first page, and was quickly scanning his eyes over the next.

Steve looked up briefly, darting his eyes across the rest of the pages, hastily scrawling his name, before handing it back. Peter let out a muffled yawn into his hoodie sleeve, catching Steve’s attention, and suddenly, the bags under his eyes seemed to grow painfully larger. “Thank you, Jane. Scan my copy of these in when you have a moment, and email them to me, with anything else you need to tell me, but for tonight, I really just think we should get going.” He stood up before Jane had the chance to say anything in return.

“Very well, I will be in contact soon.” Jane seemed glad to get them out her office and failed to protest any more. “Thank you, on behalf of the agency, and of Peter, for your generosity in choosing to open your home and your heart to children in need.” Her voice sounded robotic like a recording, and Steve could tell that she’d recited those lines more times than she could remember. He turned around briefly, and nodded to her, as he opened the door to her office, marching back down the gloomy corridors to reception.

Peter scrambled up, and seized his rucksack, following Steve’s heavy stride out of the office. “Peter, do you have any other belongings you need to pick up before we head off – a suitcase with more clothes and stuff?”

Peter bowed his head and shook it, embarrassed. Steve blushed, kicking himself at his presumptive idiocy. “Oh kid, no need to be ashamed, I’ve got loads of stuff for tonight back at my place, and if you feel up to it, we’ll go out shopping tomorrow.”

Somehow, that made Peter go even stiffer, and he didn’t even look in Steve’s direction as he followed him out to the car. _God why am I like this_ “Hey, sorry. I’m new to all this, and I don’t want to upset you. If you don’t want to shop, we don’t have to – forget anything I said.” Steve gabbled. _Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself._ He tried to change the subject as he started the engine – checking that Peter was buckled in beside him. “Do you want to pick the music we listen to? I’m a bit of a fossil, and I still have music from the 30s on my playlist.” He took his phone out his back pocket and handed it to Peter, who took it, wide-eyed, and gave Steve a timid half-smile he caught out of the corner of his eye.

Steve didn’t recognise any of the songs Peter had put on, but he tapped his finger on the steering wheel anyway. He figured there was still a lot more for him to catch up on. Apart from that, the ride home was painfully quiet.

“I haven’t got that much food in the house tonight – I didn’t really expect to pick you up so quickly. Are you okay with a take-out for tonight?” Peter shrugged in response. “Cool, pizza good?”

“As long as there’s no pineapple on it – or broccoli.” Peter curled up in his chair, shaking a little. Steve guessed he was worried that there would be some kind of repercussions for his request.

“You and me both there. I’ll get a plain cheese and a chicken and pepper?” Steve smiled, and glanced to Peter, who gave a small nod in response, and eased up a little as Steve ordered the pizzas so they’d arrive just after they’d arrive at his apartment.

Steve led Peter up the stairs in the semi dark, and into his reasonably small, but freshly decorated and immaculate home. “Hey, erm, sorry it isn’t much. People always find it funny to find that I don’t live in a huge mansion somewhere, or at least own a whole house. But, it’s nice enough – in a central location.” He cleared his throat, and ran his hand through his hair, conscious of how exhausted Peter looked. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go on.”

“Oh, um, no worries, Mr Rogers.” Peter gave a bashful half-smile, kicking his feet a little.

“Your room is just through there.” Steve nodded to the ajar door. “There’s a small en-suite in there, and I’ve left out everything I thought you might need – I wasn’t sure what size you would be, so there are pjs and a set of clothes in small and medium… I’ll order you whatever else you need either today or tomorrow if you aren’t too keen on going out, or we can take a trip out. The rest of the house is pretty self-explanatory, living room here, kitchen through there, and my rooms that way. The pizza will be here soon but take a minute to look around. Erm, and if there’s anything I’ve forgotten, please just ask. Sorry I talk so much.”

“Umm, thank you Mr Rogers.” Peter said politely, slinking off into the room Steve had gestured to him.

As the door clicked shut, Steve let out a small sigh, collapsing into the lazy boy in the corner of the room. Peter wasn’t exactly the foster kid he had had in mind, when he signed those papers. Steve had pictured kids without much to their names, coming from some rough places, but a _kid without any clothes, stinking, and covered in bruises?_ It was going to be a long few weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter????  
> I have an idea about where this is going to go in the timeline now - so Peter is aged up a bit. This is post Avengers, but a little before the winter soldier - though, kind of gearing towards those events. I'm envisaging this like the summer of 2013.  
> If anyone has any suggestions please let me know :)

Peter woke up to a gentle knock on the bedroom door. He let out a startled half scream as he desperately tried to negotiate his surroundings, sprawled out on top of a double bed, hair wet, and wearing clean, but oversized pyjamas.

“Peter, I’m sorry to wake you, you must be exhausted, but I don’t want your pizza to get cold.” The voice of… _Captain America???_ spoke softly through the door.

Peter sat bolt upright. He was in Mr Rogers’ apartment. He skittered out of the bedroom to face the man. “I’m so sorry Mr Roger’s, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He bowed his head and flinched, anticipating what was about to happen next.

To his surprise, Steve stepped back and smiled – not the smile that May used to put on when Peter did something wrong – a genuine, if a little apologetic smile. “Hey, no need to apologise, in fact, I’m sorry to wake you - you must be exhausted. I just wanted to make sure you ate something this evening.”

Peter gulped and let out a hesitant sigh of relief. “Oh, umm, thank you.”

“Yeah, it’s in the kitchen – there’s some of both types I ordered, and salad if you want, though I guess that’s a little boring. I do have some ice cream for after?”

Peter thought about the last time he had ice cream – probably the week before Ben died and things took a turn for the worse. _No._ He couldn’t act up and start crying, not in front of Mr Rogers. He knew about what happened to people who messed up in their foster placements – at least from what May and Ben had told him, foster parents were way worse than anything they ever did. Instead he smiled, “Thank you.”

Mr Rogers tried to make conversation, and Peter tried to listen, and to reply. But it was too hard to focus. He was exhausted, and stiff, and starving. He knew he ought to stop after the third slice – he didn’t want to eat all the leftover pizza and annoy Mr Rogers; besides, it had been a few days since he last ate properly, and he knew he would be sick. He couldn’t help himself though, and just kept going, his fingers dripping with grease, and bits of tomato caught around the side of his lips, until every last crumb was gone. No one had brought him food in a long time. Normally, he did all the cooking for May, and ate whatever she didn’t want – that is, providing she didn’t just scrape her leftovers into the bin. She did that sometimes too – just to spite Peter more. But now, he had pizza – and it tasted just as good as he remembered it. He couldn’t help but eat it all.

He regretted it.

“Hey, wow!” Mr Rogers laughed, bringing Peter out of his thoughts. “Someone was hungry! Let me grab the ice cream.” He wandered off out of sight to the kitchen.

Peter suddenly felt something in his stomach churn. Perhaps ice cream wasn’t a good idea. Yet again, he ignored his better judgement and ate an entire bowl full. It was Ben and Jerrys – the stuff that Ned’s mom used to buy. Peter had only had that stuff twice before, and never this cookie dough flavour… Putting cookie dough in ice cream was the most genius idea anyone had ever had – it would be rude _not_ to eat it.

Ice cream was not a good idea. Not in the slightest.

Peter clutched the rim of the toilet bowl and coughed a little, trying to remain as quiet as possible. He trembled a little, just hoping that Mr Rogers wouldn’t hear him. The bathroom looked freshly renovated, and Peter could hardly imagine what Mr Rogers would do if he knew he was throwing up in it. Especially if it was because he ate too much of his food.

He shut his eyes and rested his head against the wall, groaning slightly, as there was another knock on his door. “Peter, is everything okay? You sound like you’re throwing up. Can I do anything to help.” Mr Rogers sounded genuinely concerned.

Peter stood up quietly and wiped the corners of his mouth with the brand-new face cloth Mr Rogers had left him, feeling yet another pang of guilt. What if Mr Rogers was doing all this because he was genuinely kind, not just to trip him up, or have him to help around the house, like Ben said would happen? Peter didn’t deserve that.

“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ll try and keep the noise down.” Peter tried to call out, but his voice was feeble, and horse.

“That’s not what I meant, Peter. I just wanted to check that you were alright.”

Peter shuffled to open the door, facing the captain once more. He towered over Peter, at least a foot taller. Peter’s breath hitched a little in fear as he stared up at the looming man. “I’m fine.” he nodded, trying to smile.

Mr Rogers took a step away from the door frame, which gave Peter a small sense of relief. “I’m glad to hear it. Well, I’m going to bed – but feel free to stay up if you want. Though, just don’t have the TV on too loud or blast any music. Sharon in the flat along works long shifts, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep her up.” He yawned, “Good night Peter. You know where I am if you need me, and don’t feel that you can’t wake me up for anything.”

Peter didn’t really know how to respond. So, he nodded gratefully, and let the Captain return to his room. He wasn’t really used to getting a goodnights sleep – and he felt restless, like he needed to get out. Though, he wasn’t that familiar with Brooklyn, and maybe the first night at Mr Rogers’ wouldn’t be the best time to sneak out. He reckoned it would be much harder to escape unnoticed here than with May.

Instead, he decided to look around “his room” – it seemed like he was going to be stuck here a while, for good or bad, so he might as well.

Peter established pretty quickly that Mr Rogers maybe wasn’t going to be as horrible as May and Ben always made out foster carers would be – or this was a very elaborate plan to screw him over. Either way, he must have been more stupid than he seemed in the history museum, this room was twice the size of his old room and absolutely filled with stuff that could get broken. – a TV and games console, a walk-in cupboard, even an electric toothbrush. Of course, Peter never intended to break anything, or even use any of the more expensive things if he could help it, as all the stuff gave him an uneasy feeling. It wasn’t exactly like he deserved all this – May was right, after what he did to Ben, he didn’t deserve to feel like a person anymore, he had to pay with his life got losing Ben.

He couldn’t stop thinking about May – as if she was somehow going to turn up any minute now and drag him back to her house. Peter wasn’t sure how she’d cope without him, but he couldn’t imagine how awful she’d make his life if he ever returned there now. He wasn’t sure how much worse things could get, but he was sure she would find a way.

Thinking of May made his skin crawl, and he suddenly felt dirty again. He’d already showered that evening – he must’ve spent nearly 10 minutes in the water, before he got out, remembering that Mr Rogers would be mad if he used up all the hot water. Normally, he showered once a week, and he had to be quick – there wasn’t always time to wash his hair, and he almost never felt clean. Now Mr Rogers was asleep, Peter crept back into the bathroom and took another shower. This time, he spent nearly half an hour, scrubbing every single inch of dirt away, washing his hair twice through, using the soap that Steve had left out for him. The longer Peter spent in the shower, the more acutely aware he was of how much he _stank._ He hadn’t really been aware of it before – he guessed the whole of May’s apartment spelt bad. He slipped back into the pjs that he wore before, and rubbed his hair dry with the softest towel he had ever felt, wondering why Mr Rogers would want to foster a kid at all, and if maybe he would be safe, comfortable even, here.

Peter was loathed to fall asleep, just in case something happened in the night. Besides, after a year of sleeping on the floor, the double bed was too soft to sleep in, it felt like he was going to drown in the sheets. He eventually took the blankets off the bed and laid them out on the floor, and it was somehow felt more normal. He slept through the night for the first time since before Ben died.

\------

Steve rose early – he always did, so he could fit in decent length work out before the day really started. He was about to throw on a gym kit, when he remembered that he probably couldn’t leave Peter home alone. At least, definitely not for the next few days. Instead, he just changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and sent Sam a text complaining about a pulled hamstring, so he wouldn’t be missed.

Peter’s door was still ajar, and he didn’t think the kid had stirred yet, so he gently looked in to check on him. He wasn’t really surprised to find him on the floor – Steve remembered all too well how hard it is to sleep in a bed for the first time, but that didn’t make the sight any less upsetting. His breath hitched a little as he looked at the boy curled in on himself on the floor – heavy bruising was coming out on his left cheek, much more vividly than yesterday, and Steve hadn’t really taken in before quite how skinny he was.

Steve’s stomach dropped as he thought back to Peter throwing up last night. _He must’ve been starved, ugh you’re an idiot for giving him pizza, he must’ve felt like he had no option but to take it._ He made it his mission instead to find some gentler foods – fruit juice and maybe some toast.

It was late before he managed to sleep last night. He had heard Peter take another, much longer shower, and if he was being truly honest, he was half thankful for that. He had wanted to phone someone, just so he had someone to talk to, but he wasn’t exactly sure who. Tony wouldn’t’ve have known what to do – it wasn’t exactly like this was a problem he could solve by throwing money at. _Not that Peter was a problem – just Steve didn’t know how to help him._ Then he thought, maybe Natasha, he’d told her in passing he was planning on fostering, and she seemed supportive, but he wasn’t exactly sure they were on midnight soul-bearing phone call terms yet; besides she was probably busy. He was very close to calling Phil, but something inside him stopped him – probably something to do with the fact that SHIELD wasn’t exactly a family friendly job. Instead, he acted more practically, thinking about the schools Peter could enrol in – he was lucky that it was the summer break just before the kid started high school, so he wouldn’t have to worry about being new, a small blessing in Steve’s eyes. Technically speaking, he could go to school in Queens still if he wanted to, but that was a conversation to be had.

And then there was the matter of getting Peter new clothes and stuff – he wasn’t sure a shopping trip would be a viable option for him for a few days, at least until his face healed up. He found a things from various online shops that the kid might like, and also found there was something oddly therapeutic in mindlessly scrolling through clothes.

It wasn’t until 10:30 when Peter appeared from his room, and he had some kind of peace to him that he lacked before. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but even the bruises seemed smaller than they did four hours ago.

“Hey Peter! Did you sleep okay?” Steve beamed, seeing Peter’s ease filled him will a small sense of pride.

“Oh, yeah, better than I had in a while” Peter’s voice was still heavy with sleep, but it was still much brighter than the night before. “The bed was really comfortable.” He shifted slightly.

Steve looked him in the eye, hard, but full of sympathy. “I know it was too soft. It will be for a while. I had that too, you know, when I first came here. You don’t need to lie to me about things like that.”

Peter looked uncomfortable. Steve stepped back and waved his hands. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that – you aren’t in trouble, I just meant, you know, I get it”

Peter let out a small sigh of relief, and Steve gave him a small nod. “I’ve got you breakfast – I’m sorry about last night, I didn’t think about how rich a pizza would be. There’s juice, and toast, and if you feel up to it, I can do you an egg?”

“Oh, um, thank you Mr Rogers.” Peter kicked his feet, “Though I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

Steve raised his eyebrow, “I’ll let it slide for now, if you at least have a juice or milk or something, but breakfast is something we’re going to have to work on.” He handed Peter a tall glass filled with orange juice. Peter accepted it graciously and took a small sip. Steve nodded in approval. “So, I think you might be staying here for a while – which means I’m going to have to lay a few ground rules. In order for the both of us to be happy as we can possibly be, communication and consistency are going to be vital. It sounds stupid, I know, but I have drawn up a rules list, just so we both know where we stand – but I’m happy to discuss anything you want changing or anything.”

Steve watched Peter skim over the 2-page long list, and he handed back looking confused. “Is that it?” the boy questioned.

Steve ran his hand through his hair. “Erm, yeah, I thought that was quite a long list. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Well, what about bathroom and kitchen usage, there’s nothing about a wakeup time, am I supposed to cook for you? And you haven’t really put anything about punishments, other than getting grounded or having my phone confiscated – which, just so you know, I don’t have a phone. Umm, sorry for talking so much…” Peter trailed off.

“No, you don’t need to apologise, they’re all good questions.” Steve paused, trying to imagine what the kid had been through, asking about punishments, and whether he was allowed to use the bathroom. “You can use the bathroom and kitchen whenever you want – within reason. You know, just don’t use the stove when I’m not in without asking first, and things like that. No wake up time really, as long as its sometime in the morning, as long as you don’t have school and we aren’t going to be up to anything. And I don’t really plan on implementing any other punishments than grounding and confiscation. Oh and about the phone thing – I would like to be able to contact you, so I’ve got you a phone.” Steve handed over a small box to Peter.

The kid looked at it, shook his head, and tried to hand it back. “Mr Rogers, I can’t take this, its an iPhone 5!”

Steve chuckled, “Yeah, work gave it to me, but I have a phone already, so you’re welcome to that.” A white lie – he had actually brought the phone for himself, but it did seem like Peter was staying for the foreseeable future, and from what he could tell, it had been a long time since anyone had given the kid something new; Peter was in much greater need than he was.

Peter unwrapped the box and cradled the phone in his hands, looking at it with awe and terror, as if it were somehow the most precious thing he’d ever seen. Steve took a cautious step closer to Peter – the boy always seized up when he was too close, and Steve couldn’t exactly blame him – he knew what it was like to be 90 pounds and terrified. He smiled softly at the boy, “Do you need a hand setting it up?”

Peter looked up and nodded. He bit his lip at the sight of the captain inching towards him. “I’ve never had a phone before.” And he handed it to Steve, who sat down at the table and plugged it in.

Steve gestured for Peter to take a seat next to him, but the boy was hesitant. Steve gave Peter a warm smile, and inched his chair around the table, so they wouldn’t be as close, and the kid perched very lightly on the end of his chair. His trust would have to be very hard earned, Steve guised. He placed the phone in the middle of the two of them and talked Peter through how to use it. “You have an email address?”

Peter shook his head apologetically.

“No problem, we’ll use mind for now, and sort you one out later, okay?”

“Okay, umm, thank you Mr Rogers. And, thank you – for the phone. You really don’t need to-” Peter started to gabble.

Steve silenced him with an understanding nod. “Peter, you are very welcome. And I’ve given you the phone because I think you need one, and because I care about you. And because I care about you, I want you to know that you can trust me – I know you can’t yet, and I understand that. But I will _never_ lay so much as a finger on you, and I will make sure no one will again. And if there’s anything you want or need, please _just ask_.”

Steve stopped as he noticed a tears starting to well up in Peter’s eyes. The night had given him the chance to clear his head a little. And seeing Peter now, caused any doubt in his mind to disappear – he was so sure that Peter was meant to be with him. He just wished there was something he could do to let the boy know that he could be trusted.

“T-Thank you, Mr Rogers” Peter mumbled, holding back a sob.

“You can call me Steve, you know?” Steve smiled. Peter nodded, smiling, letting a tear fall down his face.


End file.
